Graffiti
by TeddyTan
Summary: My life was like a black wall. Mysterious and devistating. Until 'he' comes along a scribbles one word on the wall with bright vibrant colours. Love. I suck at summeries, read the first chap tell me what you think! Read & review please! :)


Hey everyone!

I'm back. Sorry it's been a while. I've been doing homework and this big project where we had to go into the city every day. Trust me you become exhausted after all of it. Got 50/50 though! YAY!

Anyway, this story is about a girl who is having a hard time and relies on graffiti (hence the title). I have no idea about who I may pair her with so if you have any ideas please tell me. This idea came to me when I visited ACDC lane and hosier lane. If you ever go to Melbourne check it out.

This was also a reflection that I had to write up. It was supposed to be where you reflect on an activity that you did, but I decided to write it as a story. It is expanded, A LOT.

Hope you enjoy.

I step into the alleyway full with pride. Step one successful. Being able to slip out of the house without anyone noticing. Now to put step two into action.

I bent down and swung my heavy zip up bag off of my shoulder. I opened it up and pulled out the first can I could find. I was going to let my emotions pour. All the stuff that was going on at school, all the stuff that my parents were doing to me and even the passing away of my grandma; I needed to escape from all of this and this is how I did it.

Well for starters School sucked, I didn't get anything that the teachers were trying to teach me, probably because I have a short attention span. Second of all, my parents. Well if you think my parents are nice, well you have come to the wrong family. I mean ever since I was born I would always have a bruise or two on me. I didn't get new clothes I got either clothes from the ops shop or I had to sew scraps up and make it into something to wear. Yeah, my parents even admit that I'm a mistake. It kind of sucks, but I'm used to it.

Lastly, my grandma. Well she wasn't really my grandma; she was my next door neighbour who was quite elderly. I met her when I was about three and she let me call her grandma ever since. She knew something was up with me and my bruises that always seemed to be present, but she never brought up the conversation unless I wanted to talk about it. I thought it was something that happened in every family so I didn't think it was a big deal. By the time I realised that what my parents were doing to me was illegal, I wanted to tell her but on that day she was diagnosed with dementia. She still remembered who I was but she didn't understand how I was so grown up all of a sudden. In a matter of days, I watched the person closest to me fade away. I would still visit her but I would have to remind her every time who I was and I would repeat my life story. It was always the same questions, always the same words. It saddened me.

Even though she wasn't blood related, she was the closet person I had to the word family. The only place I felt at home was when I was by her side. I made a few friends here and there and I actually started trying to fit in at school, I mean I still hated it and, from what I gathered, it hated me. But I had a few friends here and there and that got me by for a while.

I blocked the idea of what happened next out of my head. Over that small amount of time so much happened. Her death, their divorce and then the custody battle. It all just took its toll. All of the information caused me to have a headache just think about it.

I grabbed the white can and sprayed it all over the wall with such confidence. I didn't care if I was caught; I needed to let my emotions out. I didn't want to cry, I just wanted my feelings to be noticed, so that if others are feeling what I was feeling they would know that they're not alone.

The thought of getting caught just made me want to create a bigger and more elaborate piece. The huge fine or even the possible jail sentence I knew was what I would be facing if I was caught. But I didn't care my life is already pretty skit as it is, so I didn't care.

I didn't care what others thought about it either. I didn't care how others saw it. All that mattered is that I'm letting my feelings out.

As I sprayed I could see the surrounding walls. Everything was fairly dull and it all reflected how I was feeling. Sad, depressed, dull even suicidal (don't worry peeps, I don't want to kill myself right now, but I sometimes have the thought). The thing is, is that I didn't want to spray something that showed my emotions, because all I would do is start balling my eyes out and that's the last thing that I wanted to happen. I wanted to show hope, something that so many people like me believe in. The one thing that we cling onto so we won't be dragged down into the pits of despair.

But the more that I looked at the things that were around me, the more I depressed I felt. The stuff that some people sprayed, glued and stuck up didn't look like much, but to me it made me feel at home. Because I felt like I was a place where everyone expressed their feelings. A place where I knew people understood me, even though I didn't know the faces to these pieces of artwork. The thing that saddened me was that there wasn't a ray of hope anywhere on this wall. Not even a speck.

I remember when I was younger, the first time I saw someone graffiti it was an older man. He looked like he was around 35 years old maybe older. I can't remember what he looked like really. I'm pretty sure he looked really nice but he was a bit scraggily (is that even a word?). Me being only seven or eight at the most I didn't understand why he was spray-painting over someone else's work. I mean someone spent their precious time spraying that awesome piece of artwork up to have someone spray over it.

"Excuse me Mister. Why are you doing that?" I said confidently. He just looked at me weirdly and continued with his work.

Being ignored is something that I really hate. But then attention is something that I also didn't like (I'm special like that). I built up my courage and decided to be noticed. My curiosity beat what my brain was telling me. Everything about this man said 'bad'. I mean yeah he did look nice but then so do a lot of paedophiles!

"Why are you spray-painting over somebody else's work?" I asserted. I wanted him to answer me. I wasn't going to be ignored.

That's when I really caught his attention. The man head snapped in my direction and he looked down at me. Shit was basically what I thought (but at the time it was probably something different because I didn't know how to swear yet). He examined me for a second. He then bent down a little to meet me eye to eye.

"You know what kiddo? The reason people do this is because we express our feelings through the art work. Why we do it over other peoples is because well…" He paused for a moment unsure of how to respond.

I'm pretty sure I was thinking how smart I was, because, you know, when you're young you think you know it all. I still do think I know it all, but I have to admit as much as I would like to think that, I know that nobody will ever know everything. It's just the way the cruel world works.

But the thing about this guy was that he wasn't threating at all. This guy looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly. He had a sparkle in his eye when he was talking. I could see his passion towards street art, towards, what I thought at the time was scribbles, which ended up being tagging. I didn't catch him off guard; he was just finding the right words so that a seven year old would understand.

"I'll put it this way. People only put their work over others if they can do something better."

"I don't get it! Wouldn't you be mad if someone painted over your work? I certainly would be!" I screamed. It all didn't make sense. But the man was caught off guard this time. I had basically just made him deaf from my high pitch screaming in his ear.

My hand swung to cover my mouth. Did I just offend this guy? I did, didn't I?

Those sweet moments when the sweet emotion of fear hits you. Why I call it sweet, is because it's the thing that keeps me thinking that this place is reality.

Something that surprised me is that the man looked surprised. I mean I didn't blame him. I would be too if a seven or eight year old just screamed at you because you didn't understand something.

"You certainly do have a good set of lungs on ya, don't ya? Well, the thing with this is that if you put up your artwork on the streets like you have to be prepared for it. I mean you do get a little upset but," He paused and started painting away again. "If we wanted it to last we would have put it up in a museum or something like that. Sometimes we don't want art to last."

How stupid was I! I mean I could have thought of that!

"What's your favourite colour kiddo?" He asked. I just blinked. Why was he asking me this? Was he going to stalk me or do something horrible to me…? (Seriously don't want to think about it!)

"It's ok. You don't have to give out your details to someone you don't know!" He stopped spraying the wall and tossed me the spray can that he was using.

I looked at it. Why did he give it to me? He didn't even know me!

"You seem interested, so keep it. Give it a try sometime. Just don't let the cops see ya, cause your parents will have to face a fine." He said. I nodded.

"My favourite colour is green, dark purple to be specific!" I said. He looked at me and smiled.

"It's a good colour isn't it?" He responded. "Any reason why?"

"It reminds me of sunsets for some reason. Sunsets are one of my favourite things in the world. Because it's that start of a peaceful night!" Was all that I said. I mean I could go on forever about why I liked dark purple.

The man squatted and unzipped his bag and pulled out another spray can.

"Well you better have these two then." He said as he pulled out two more spray cans. He held them out to me. I didn't know what to do. Here was a man giving me spray cans. I didn't even know that dude.

"Why are you giving me all these things?" I wanted to know. This was the first person to actually accept me for who I am, but then again he didn't really know me that well. That's probably why!

"Didn't I say before? It looks like you have an interest in these things. Give it a try some time. Plus, I don't really use the purple or the lilac, so I thought you should have them since purple is your favourite colour." I looked at him shocked.

"Which one is which though?" I had to ask. They all looked that same. He turned and grabbed something out of his bag again. A marker.

"This one here is the lilac. This one is the purple and the last one is black. Always leave the black for last to outline stuff. Unless you're using it for a background colour, but that's a whole different thing!" He said as he wrote down what colours they are on the lids and the actual cans themselves.

"They should all be fairly new so they should all work." He smiled.

"Wouldn't you need the black? I mean it would probably be the colour that most artists use the most, wouldn't it be?" I mean it would only make sense. He just said that what he uses black as a background or to outline.

"You're a smart kid. You're probably right. That's why I have about three cans of it in my bag at all times!" He smirked. Three to zero. He had me every time.

"Well, have fun with that!" He said as he zipped up his bag and stood up handing all of my cans of paint back.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" I said as he started to walk away.

"Nope! That's for me to know and you to find out!" That was a really good comeback, but the fact that it was used on me annoyed me. I let it over my head though. I mean this guy just let me have three of his spray cans.

"Oh. Well thank you anyway!" I said as I continued on my way.

I stepped away from my piece of artwork and sighed. This would never be as good as his was.

It looked simular except his had more details and was grander due to the elaborate skull design. I didn't want that I just liked sticking to the simple yet bold stuff.

It was a skull with rainbow tears flowing from its black pitiless eye sockets. But what really made me feel a little bit of hope were the words that were encased in the tears. Belonging, love and hope. It was the same words that the man left on the street when I was around seven.

That's the thing that really pushed me on. I packed my spray cans in my bag; just like that man did to me that day. As I swung it back on my shoulder and set off, I couldn't help but think I would ever meet that man again. If I would ever learn his name. If I would ever get to thank him properly for saving me from my own personal hell.

Well, step two, to put a ray of hope in this lane was a success now onto the third and final step. Find another friend's house I can go to live in for a while, if they were willing to let me.

WOW! Well from starting out with a 771 word reflection to this is awesome.

Anyway. What do you think?

What do you think he name should be?

What should she look like?

Who should she end up with?

What else do you think happened to her?

What about her personality?

I'm leaving this up to you guys so if you want her to be awesome, write down your thoughts in a review or message me. It only takes four seconds depending on how long the message is.

I will include a lot more about her in the next chapter.

Bye for now!

TeddyTan Out!


End file.
